Auditor Emptor

A reminiscence. . .

Time: A couple of years ago

Place: A deli

I was in the late lunch checkout line at the deli as three small cheesecakes went into a flat white box for the customer ahead of me. I was next, with a Cubano. A young girl stepped up behind my left shoulder … closer than was necessary, under the circumstances. Brunette. About 5’5″. Well dressed. Mid-to-late teens. So far, so good. But she seemed to be emitting barely audible sounds –part humming, part murmur, part song. Then, I heard –just barely– (or did I?) an urgent, plaintive imperative: “Talk to me!”

Incredulous, almost flabbergasted, I didn’t say a word. There’s something ferocious –even dangerous– about a girl who has trained herself to speak in a voice that can’t be heard. How much else is bottled up inside? Who or what is the focus of her pain and anger? Is it focused at all?

I haven’t seen her since. At least I don’t think so. Certainly haven’t heard from her again.

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